Midnight Ride for a Banana Split

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The truck’s engine rumbled to life just after 11:30 PM, the low growl of the exhaust vibrating through Chyenne’s bones as she settled into the passenger seat. DJ had been cryptic all evening—no hints, no clues—just that smirk of his that promised something far more interesting than a late-night drive. She’d changed twice before settling on the black lace teddy beneath her dress, the one that made her ass look like it was begging to be grabbed. The stockings and garter belt were overkill for a truck ride, but something in the way DJ’s eyes darkened when he saw her told her she’d made the right call.

He handed her a single red rose as she climbed in, his fingers brushing hers just long enough to send a shiver up her spine. The truck smelled like leather and his cologne, that woodsy, musky scent that always made her wet before he even touched her. Then she noticed the envelope on the seat, nestled among a scattering of rose petals. Inside, his handwriting—bold, messy, *his*—spelled out words that made her throat tighten.

*"You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to keep. Tonight, I’m showing you why."*

She didn’t even finish reading before she lunged at him, her lips crashing into his, tongue sweeping into his mouth like she was trying to memorize the taste of him. DJ groaned, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, “you’re gonna make me wreck this truck before we even get started.”

Chyenne laughed, breathless, as she settled back into her seat. The truck rolled out of the driveway, the headlights cutting through the dark like a blade. She watched the streetlights blur past, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her thigh. DJ reached into the backseat, the bag rustling, and when he handed her the small, familiar device, her pulse kicked up.

The wearable vibrator.

She didn’t hesitate. The hem of her dress rode up as she shifted in her seat, the cool air hitting her thighs before she slid the toy into place, the silicone pressing snug against her clit. DJ’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel when she spread her legs just enough to give him a view—the lace of her panties, the garter straps, the way her stockings hugged her thighs like a second skin.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, voice rough. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

Then the vibrator hummed to life.

Chyenne bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, her back arching off the seat. The toy wasn’t on full power—just a teasing buzz, a promise—but it was enough to make her hips twitch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. DJ’s fingers twitched on the remote in his lap, his other hand sliding up her thigh, thumb pressing against the inside of her knee like he was claiming her.

“You like that, baby?” His voice was a dark purr, the kind that made her pussy clench around nothing. “You like when I play with you like this?”

She nodded, her nails digging into the leather seat. The vibration pulsed, slow and deep, then stopped abruptly. Chyenne whimpered, her body already aching for more, but DJ just chuckled, low and dirty. He leaned over, his hand cupping her jaw, turning her face toward his. The kiss was brutal—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, his thumb pressing into the hinge of her jaw like he was reminding her who was in control. Then his hand slid down, fingers tracing the swell of her breast over her dress, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, before slipping beneath the fabric to find her bare skin.

His fingers teased the lace edge of her panties, then dipped beneath, two thick digits sliding through her folds with ease. She was soaked. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growled against her mouth. “You’re gonna come for me, Chyenne. Right now.”

His fingers circled her clit, slow and deliberate, while the vibrator buzzed back to life. The double stimulation was too much—her vision whited out, her body locking up as the orgasm crashed over her. She came with a broken cry, her hips jerking against his hand, her pussy pulsing around nothing. DJ swallowed the sound with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, dragging out every last shudder until she was boneless in the seat, her breath ragged.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling his hand free and licking his fingers clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue. Chyenne watched, mesmerized, as he turned the vibrator back on, the hum filling the cab of the truck. “Again.”

She should’ve known he wasn’t done.

By the time they pulled off the main road, Chyenne had lost count of how many times she’d come. Her thighs were slick with it, her dress riding up around her hips, her panties ruined. The truck bumped down a dirt path, the headlights illuminating a small, abandoned building—some old storage shed, maybe, or a hunter’s cabin. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way DJ’s cock strained against his jeans, the bulge thick and obvious.

He killed the engine and turned to her, his eyes dark with need. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice rough. “I’ll be right back.”

Chyenne watched him grab the bag from the backseat and disappear into the building, the door creaking shut behind him. The truck was silent except for the sound of her own breathing, her body still thrumming from the last orgasm. She shifted in her seat, the vibrator still humming between her legs, and that’s when she noticed it—the small red light blinking on the dashboard.

A camera.

Her pulse spiked. *He’d been recording her this whole time.*

The thought should’ve pissed her off. Instead, it made her wet all over again.

DJ was back in exactly ten minutes, the door swinging open to let in a rush of cold air. He didn’t say a word—just leaned in, his hand cupping the back of her neck, and kissed her like he was starving. His other hand slid something smooth and silky over her eyes, tying it snug behind her head. A blindfold.

Then he was lifting her, his arms strong beneath her ass, carrying her like she weighed nothing. The air changed when they stepped inside—warmer, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something sweet, like chocolate. He set her down gently, her bare thighs pressing against what felt like a chair. Before she could adjust, something soft and cool wrapped around her wrists, pulling them behind her back. Restraints.

Chyenne tested them, but there was no give. She was trapped.

DJ’s footsteps moved around her, the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. Then music started—low, throbbing bass, the kind that vibrated in her chest. His fingers trailed up her arms, her neck, her jaw, tilting her head back.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “All mine.”

Then he stepped away.

The blindfold came off.

DJ stood a few feet away, dressed in a police uniform—the real kind, not some cheap Halloween costume. The badge gleamed under the dim light, the fabric stretched tight over his shoulders, his biceps. He moved with the music, his hips rolling, his hands sliding over his own body like he was teasing *himself*. Chyenne’s mouth went dry.

He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, one hand at a time, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair leading down into his pants. The shirt hit the floor. His fingers went to his belt, the leather hissing as he pulled it free, then the button of his pants, the zipper. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the vibrating cock ring already in place, the veins standing out along the shaft. Chyenne licked her lips, her body aching to touch him, but the restraints held her fast.

DJ smirked, stepping closer, his body brushing against hers just enough to tease. His hands found her thighs, pushing her dress up, exposing her to the cool air. “You want me, baby?” His voice was a dark promise. “You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you?”

She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. He reached into the bag again, pulling out a bottle of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream. Chyenne’s eyes widened as he popped the top on the syrup, the thick liquid dripping onto his cock, coating the head, the shaft, the ring. Then he sprayed the whipped cream over it, the cold making him hiss.

“Your dessert,” he said, stepping closer, his cock bobbing in front of her face. “Lick it all off, and I’ll let you touch me.”

Chyenne didn’t need to be told twice.

She leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to catch the first drizzle of chocolate from the tip of his cock. The taste was rich, sweet, mixed with the salt of his skin, the musk of his arousal. She worked her way down, licking every inch, her lips wrapping around the head to suck off the whipped cream, her tongue swirling around the ridge. DJ’s breath hitched, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her deeper.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, his hips twitching forward. “Take it all, baby.”

She hollowed her cheeks, taking him to the back of her throat, the vibrator still buzzing between her legs, driving her wild. She pulled back, her lips popping off with a wet sound, then dove back in, her tongue tracing the veins, her teeth grazing lightly over the sensitive skin. The cock ring buzzed against her lips, the vibration traveling straight to her clit, making her moan around his dick.

DJ’s grip tightened. “You’re gonna make me come,” he warned, his voice strained. “And when I do, it’s all over that pretty face.”

The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through her. She doubled her efforts, her head bobbing, her throat opening for him, her hands straining against the restraints. She wanted to touch him, to feel the weight of his balls in her palm, to stroke the base of his cock while she sucked him off, but the ties held fast.

“Fuck—*fuck*—” DJ’s hips stuttered, his cock swelling in her mouth. Then he was pulling back, his hand fisting the base, the other cupping her jaw. “Open.”

Chyenne obeyed, her mouth falling open, her tongue out.

The first rope of come hit her cheek, thick and hot, followed by another across her lips, her chin. She moaned, her pussy clenching around nothing, the vibrator still buzzing, pushing her closer to the edge. DJ painted her face with his release, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip before he leaned in and kissed her, his come smeared between them.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers finding the restraints, loosening them. “Now let’s see how many times I can make you scream before sunrise.”